


Will the World Remember You if You Fall?

by pirates_and_candles



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Barricades, Blood, Canon Era, Death, Demisexual Courfeyrac, F/M, Flower Language, Flowers, I didn’t really try that hard on research, Jehan has a bicycle now, Jehan’s hair is full of flowers, M/M, Montparnasse is gay and does crimes, Multi, Pining, Violence, it’s a draisine bike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 07:46:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18752080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirates_and_candles/pseuds/pirates_and_candles
Summary: Courfeyrac realizes that he loves Jehan.  The only problem is that Jehan is in love with Montparnasse and there's a revolution coming...





	Will the World Remember You if You Fall?

**Author's Note:**

> Courfeyrac has some backstory, it’s italicized.
> 
> Title comes from Grantaire's solo in Drink with Me
> 
> I'm sorry

“‘Parnasse is just… he’s soft under his gruffness. Like a dog. Yes, exactly like a dog. He’s all bite-y but he’s all fluffy and wants head pats.” Jehan said to Courfeyrac.

“If he’s such a great guy, you ought to pursue him before someone else sweeps him off his feet,” Courfeyrac said.

Jehan sighed into his latest glass of wine. “You’re lucky, Courfeyrac, never falling in love with anyone. It’s a… it’s a big mess.”

Courfeyrac frowned at Jehan, his chest aching. That wasn’t exactly true. It had been, until he’d realized he loved Jehan. But beautiful, Romantic, poet Jehan wouldn’t love him, Courfeyrac, who’d never loved anyone.

“We ought to be going,” Courfeyrac said, standing up. “The Corinthe will be closing soon.”

“If we have to. _Parting is such sweet sorrow_ ,” Jehan mumbled to himself. He stood up. “Lead the way.” Courfeyrac looped his arm through Jehan’s elbow, leading him through the crowded public house.

Outside, Jehan looked up at the stars and smiled. “Stars watch us like tiny sentinels. _Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art_.” Jehan let go of Courfeyrac and started walking, Courfeyrac keeping pace. Jehan stumbled into Courfeyrac and started giggling. Courfeyrac wrapped his arms around Jehan, steadying him. “I’m afraid,” Jehan said, “you’ll have to carry me.”

“If you insist.” Courfeyrac scooped Jehan up in his arms as if Jehan were his bride. Jehan laughed, clinging to Courfeyrac's coat sleeve. He closed his eyes. Courfeyrac could barely make out Jehan’s smile through the darkness. He listened to Jehan hum as he carried the poet through the streets of Paris.

Courfeyrac unlocked the door of Jehan's rooms, setting Jehan down on his bed. Jehan sat up. “Do you want coffee? I’ll make a cup.” Jehan tried to climb out of bed, but Courfeyrac put a hand on his shoulder.

“You can barely stand, there’s no need to make me anything,” Courfeyrac said.

“Then sit with me.” Jehan patted beside him on the bed. With a small smile, Courfeyrac obeyed. After he was settled, Jehan lay down, resting his head on Courfeyrac’s lap. “Stars are so pretty. They see all the secrets and don’t say anything. Little diamonds of secrets just scattered across the heavens.”

“What poet said that?” Courfeyrac asked, brushing a lock of Jehan’s hair out of his face.

The poet closed his eyes and smiled. “I did.”

“It’s lovely.”

“Thank you. You know what else is full of stars and secrets?” Courfeyrac prepared himself for Jehan to ramble on about Montparnasse again. “You know what else is full of stars and secrets?” Jehan repeated.

“What?”

“Your hair. It’s all wavy and dark. Perfect for secrets. Stars like to hide in it.” Courfeyrac’s chest ached. He looked down at Jehan, who was blinking sleepily, struggling to keep his eyes open. “It’s pretty.”

Jehan readjusted himself, settling deeper into Courfeyrac’s lap, closing his eyes. “Good night,” Courfeyrac whispered. Jehan didn’t respond. Courfeyrac leaned back and stared up at the ceiling, wondering what he’d do about his feelings.

 

_Courfeyrac had always been confused when people talked about love and wooing each other. It was surely all a jest, right? He’d tried to convince himself of it, that he wasn’t missing something important. He’d done well until Marius had frantically burst into the Musain late one night._

_“I need ideas,” Marius cried out. “Cosette and Éponine are planning things for our anniversary. Oh, I’m a fool. I forgot it’s tomorrow. I didn’t think of anything. What am I to do?”_

_The room had become a flurry of activity. Courfeyrac watched in amusement as everyone made a fuss over love. It made his heart ache. He’d never have this with anyone. He wasn’t built for love. The plans for the upcoming revolution were abandoned to help Marius. They all bounced ideas off each other until late into the night._

_By the time Marius finally had a plan, most of the Les Amis had left. Only Combeferre, Enjolras, Jehan, and Courfeyrac were left. Combeferre yawned into his sleeve. “Make sure Enjolras gets back safely, Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I’m going to my rooms.”_

_Combeferre left the Musain. Courfeyrac watched Jehan drop the flower he was trying to plait into his hair. “I’ll help you,” Courfeyrac said._

_Jehan smiled. “Thank you.” He picked up his flowers and walked over to Courfeyrac. He sat down on the floor, leaning against Courfeyrac’s legs, handing Courfeyrac the flowers. Courfeyrac took the flowers and began to work. Jehan shifted and a fluttering feeling settled in Courfeyrac’s chest. He plaited until there was no more hair to plait._

_“We ought to wake up Enjolras,” Jehan said, standing up. Courfeyrac’s legs were cold and he wanted Jehan to come back._

_“Of course.” Courfeyrac stood up and shook Enjolras’s shoulder._

_Enjolras sat up with a start, hair sticking to his face. “Wha?”_

_“Everyone else is gone, we need to return to our rooms,” Courfeyrac said._

_Enjolras nodded and stood up, stretching. The three friends left the Musain together. Jehan talked about the majesty of a poet Courfeyrac had never heard of as they strolled through the streets. Courfeyrac watched Jehan wave his hands as he explained some artful prose. It was enchanting, in a way. How Jehan opened his mouth and Courfeyrac was under his spell. Jehan leaned down, picking a trampled flower up off the cobbles._

_“It’s still beautiful,” Jehan said. He tucked it into Courfeyrac’s buttonhole and Courfeyrac smiled down at Jehan. The poet smiled back and they continued walking. Courfeyrac wanted to hold Jehan’s hand. Listen to him recite poetry from memory, each word falling like a diamond from his lips. Courfeyrac had never felt this way about anyone before, but he reckoned it was what everyone else meant when they talked about love._

_Jehan jumped down off a curb, turning around to watch Enjolras and Courfeyrac. Enjolras stepped down off the curb, but Courfeyrac jumped, making Jehan laugh. The sound was like a bell chiming to Courfeyrac’s ears. He looked at Enjolras. Surely his determined leader was moved by such a beautiful sound._

_Enjolras stifled a yawn._

_They reached where Jehan parted ways and lingered. Jehan hesitated before muttering “goodnight” and turning down his street. Enjolras and Courfeyrac walked to their rooms in silence, Courfeyrac floating on air._

_Lying in his bed, Courfeyrac stared at the ceiling, thinking about Jehan’s laugh. It seemed he was in love._

 

When Courfeyrac woke in the morning, Jehan wasn’t in sight. Courfeyrac stood up, rubbing his stiff neck. Jehan came into the room, two cups of coffee in hand. He handed Courfeyrac a cup and sat down. He wasn’t smiling.

They drank coffee in silence until Jehan’s clock chimed out the hour. Courfeyrac counted the chimes and stood up. “No! I need to get to class. Enjolras is going to kill me.” Courfeyrac handed Jehan back the cup. “Thank you, Jehan. I’m sorry.”

“Borrow my bicycle,” Jehan called out as Courfeyrac ran across the room, flinging open the door.

“Thank you,” Courfeyrac called back, closing the door behind him. Courfeyrac grabbed the ancient bicycle tucked behind a few bushes outside Jehan’s lodging house and hopped on. He was not entirely sure how to ride, but he would figure it out. Surely it wasn’t harder than riding a horse.

It was harder than riding a horse, but Courfeyrac couldn’t exactly abandon the bicycle in the middle of Paris, so he rode it all the way to the university, stowing it behind some bushes. He was certain it would be safe. Even desperate students wouldn’t be able to get more than a few sous for it if they stole it.

Courfeyrac made it to class before Enjolras, which pleased him greatly. There were few things that could keep Enjolras from arriving on time to class. One of them was Patria, the other Grantaire.

Enjolras slunk into class and sat down next to Courfeyrac. He had bags under his eyes and a smudge of blue paint across one cheekbone. Courfeyrac caught Enjolras’s eye and tapped his cheek. Enjolras’s hand flew to his face and he rubbed off the paint, blushing.

 

After class, Courfeyrac retrieved the bicycle and walked it through the streets. He was ruminating on how to thank Jehan for lending it to him when he passed the flower shop Jehan and Bahorel worked at. Jehan always had flowers around him. They would be a great way to thank him.

Courfeyrac entered the shop. Bahorel was at the counter and Jehan wasn’t in sight. “Ho there, Courfeyrac,” Bahorel said, smiling.

“Bahorel, I need flowers.”

“Not here for my smiling face then,” Bahorel teased. “What do you need?”

“I… don’t know. They’re for Jehan. What about that one?” Courfeyrac pointed at an orange flower.

Bahorel winced. “I better help you. Orange lilies symbolize hatred. Not something you want to give to Prouvaire.” Bahorel came out from behind the counter. “What do you wish to communicate?”

Courfeyrac remembered his advice to Jehan from last night. _You ought to pursue him before someone else sweeps him off his feet_. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. It was time he stopped hiding behind cowardliness and confess already. “Adoration and love.”

Bahorel smiled and took out a pair of shears. “Red tulips mean true love, you will need some of those. Sunflowers mean adoration. These mean desire and passion.” ‘These’ were light pink and orange roses.

“Yes, all of them, yes.”

“If you care to go looking, ivy means faithfulness. Prouvaire might appreciate it.” Bahorel tied a red ribbon around the bouquet and handed it to Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac paid and left the shop. Walking the bicycle through the streets he found some ivy wrapped around a tree in a park. The same one Marius had first met Cosette in.

Taking the ivy from the tree, he made a quick garland with half of the flowers and the ivy. He wrapped it around his shoulders, retied the ribbon around the remaining half of the bouquet, and walked towards Jehan’s rooms.

Knocking on the door, he fidgeted and listened for footsteps. Jehan opened the door. He was in his shirtsleeves, his cravat loose around his neck. He smiled when Courfeyrac handed him the flowers. “Thank you, Courfeyrac.”

“Jehan, I love you,” Courfeyrac said. "Romantically."

Jehan didn’t say anything and Courfeyrac’s face fell. “Why don’t you come inside,” Jehan said, stepping aside to let Courfeyrac in. After the door was closed, Jehan cleared his throat. “I will admit, I didn’t think you loved anyone romantically,” Jehan said.

“I thought that until a month ago, when I realized I love you.”

Jehan didn’t say anything. He walked over to the dresser and removed some wilted flowers from a vase. He fussed with Courfeyrac’s flowers, arranging them to his standards. “I don’t know what to do,” Jehan admitted, still not turning around. “I love both Montparnasse and you.”

Courfeyrac wilted. “I… I understand. Shall I let myself out?”

“It would be best.”

Courfeyrac left Jehan’s rooms, the garland of flowers still around his neck. He walked across the square to his rooms. When he was inside, he saw Enjolras and Combeferre leaning over some paper.

“We need more guns,” Enjolras said, tapping the paper.

“We can’t risk getting caught by the National Guard,” Combeferre said.

The revolution was exactly what Courfeyrac needed to distract him from his pain. “What about bandages? I doubt you and Joly have enough.” Enjolras and Combeferre whirled around, eyes wide with fear. Courfeyrac raised his hands. “If I can sneak up on you two, the National Guard can too. We need to be careful.”

Enjolras sighed and rested his head in his hands.

 

Courfeyrac lay awake while Enjolras and Combeferre were asleep beside him. They had finished up their plans an hour ago and allowed themselves a moment to breathe. It hadn’t taken much coaxing before Courfeyrac recounted the events of the afternoon at Jehan’s rooms. Combeferre and Enjolras hadn’t hesitated to assure him everything would be fine.

Exhaustion had caught up with them and Courfeyrac insisted they sleep. Without them to distract him from his thoughts, he had nothing else to do but hate himself for his foolishness. He’d heard Jehan talk about Montparnasse and still hadn’t expected his confession to go poorly. What a fool he was.

He curled up and listened to Combeferre’s breathing in his ear. Everything would be all right. It had to be.

Someone pounded on the door. Courfeyrac stood up and started gathering up all the incriminating documents scattered throughout the set of rooms. “The National Guard,” Enjolras said, scrambling to his feet. “Hide everything.”

Combeferre groaned and got to his feet as well, prying up a floorboard for Courfeyrac to dump his armload of paper into. The fist pounded at the door again. “Enjolras, Enjolras,” the voice called out.

Enjolras opened the door. “Gavroche, what is it?” Courfeyrac and Combeferre exchanged a relieved look and retrieved the papers from the hiding place.

“General Lamarque has died,” Gavroche announced.

“We need to start our plans. Gavroche, gather everyone else, we’ll be at the Corinthe.” Gavroche nodded and ran down the hall. Enjolras closed the door and started grabbing papers. “Courfeyrac, fetch the munitions.”

 

The usually bustling streets of Paris were eerily still after the barricades had been erected. The Les Amis and the National Guard eyed each other as the captain of the Guard shouted for them to stop their frivolous rebellion.

“For the revolution,” Enjolras shouted. The first National Guard fired and battle erupted. Courfeyrac kept an eye on Jehan. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if anything happened to Jehan. He had begged the poet to leave the barricades, but Jehan wouldn’t leave. Which meant Courfeyrac would have to keep him from getting shot.

As the battle raged on, a few National Guard climbed the barricade to get at the students with bayonets. One struck Feuilly in the chest. Feuilly screamed and fell backwards. “Sniper,” someone called out. Courfeyrac searched the buildings. He found the man pointing a gun and saw it was pointed at Jehan.

Courfeyrac ran across the barricade, a chair sliding from under him. He fell to his knees and scrambled for purchase. There were few things Courfeyrac feared in this moment. One of them was falling before he could reach Jehan, the other was Jehan dying. He got to his feet and ran, reaching Jehan, tackling him to the ground as the sniper fired.

Bright shards of fire bit through Courfeyrac’s leg. “No,” Jehan said. “No.” Courfeyrac clung to Jehan. Everything was foggy outside of the pain. Jehan grabbed him by the hands and started dragging him. “Combeferre,” Jehan screamed. “Joly.” Courfeyrac could feel himself slipping out of consciousness as waves of pain washed over his head. “No, Courfeyrac, stay, I beg you. Don’t leave me.”

Courfeyrac wished he could obey his Jehan, but sleep was too alluring. He managed to whisper “I’m afraid you’ll have to carry me” before he lost consciousness.

 

Courfeyrac woke up to a scream. He tried to sit up. The scream was feral and full of pain. Like a wolf mourning its mate. “Hold him down,” Combeferre ordered. Strong hands pinned the struggling Courfeyrac.

“What is happening?” Courfeyrac asked after he realized the man holding him down was Jehan. Still alive and whole.

“Those bastards just killed Éponine,” Combeferre said.

“The National Guard have retreated for now. You need to rest,” Jehan said. Courfeyrac looked up at the roof of the Corinthe.

Enjolras stood in the doorway. “Is Courfeyrac going to survive his wound, Combeferre?” Enjolras asked.

“He should.”

“Huzzah,” Courfeyrac said, deadpan. Jehan gave him a reassuring smile.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Anyone who wants to leave can. Not all of us need to die here tonight.”

“Jehan, you should go,” Courfeyrac said. “The barricades are no place for a beautiful poet.”

“Would you go with me?” Jehan asked. Courfeyrac looked between Enjolras, Combeferre, and Jehan. His friends needed him. His stupid feelings of love were not as important as the cause. That’s what Enjolras had said to Marius, at least, back before he had decided he loved both Cosette and Éponine equally.

“No.”

“Then I’m not leaving either.” Jehan had a look on his face that said he wouldn’t discuss this.

Courfeyrac rose up onto his elbows to better look at Enjolras. “Enjolras, who has died?”

“Éponine. Feuilly. Bossuet. The other barricades are falling.”

“Courfeyrac, you need to rest, you can strategize later,” Jehan said.

Courfeyrac’s whole body ached. Rest didn’t sound too bad. He settled back down and Jehan’s hands rested on the sides of his face. “I’m sorry, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. Stay alive,” Enjolras said.

Enjolras left the Corinthe. “I imagine you two want to be alone,” Combeferre said. He stood up and followed Enjolras out the door.

Jehan put his head on Courfeyrac’s chest, facing Courfeyrac. “Courfeyrac, never do that again. I was afraid I’d lost you.”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

Jehan shook his head, tears in his eyes. “Don’t. Don’t.”

Courfeyrac reached for Jehan’s hand. Jehan didn’t pull away and Courfeyrac ran his thumb over Jehan’s slender fingers. “Jehan, if I die, I die with you.” Jehan closed his eyes, tears leaking through the corners. The tears ran like falling stars down his face. Courfeyrac couldn’t watch anymore. He closed his eyes and listened to Jehan’s breathing. He hoped he survived the night.

 

Someone nudged him in the side. He opened and eye and glared at them. “Get up.” It was Montparnasse, cane in hand. He looked around the Corinthe with disgust. “What are you waiting for? Get up.”

“What is going on?” Courfeyrac asked, sitting up. Jehan was standing beside Montparnasse.

“Courfeyrac, I can’t watch you die,” Jehan said. “I had Gavroche fetch Montparnasse. He can get us out of here.”

“Jehan, we can’t abandon the cause.”

“I don’t want to abandon life," Jehan said. "I don’t want to watch the National Guard kill each and every one of my friends.”

Courfeyrac was so tired. He didn’t want to fight. For the first time, he saw exactly why Grantaire believed in nothing but Enjolras. “Gavroche, no,” Grantaire shouted. “Gavroche you won’t make it.” Gunshots echoed out. Courfeyrac turned his head away from the door as his friends screamed. It wasn’t worth it. None of them would make it out of this.

“Fine,” Courfeyrac said hoarsely.

“Gueulemer, carry him to the hideout,” Montparnasse ordered. A burly man stepped into the room, picking Courfeyrac up easily. Montparnasse led the way out the back door.

Jehan walked beside Courfeyrac, cautiously twining their fingers together, giving Courfeyrac a small smile. “We’ll be fine, I promise. ‘Parnasse won’t let us get hurt.” Courfeyrac nodded and closed his eyes. He was drifting through a world that had changed drastically with only Jehan’s hand as an anchor.

 

A month and a half after the barricades had been cleared away, Courfeyrac was leaning on Jehan as he walked across the rooms they now shared. Montparnasse had waited until Courfeyrac was mostly healed before letting them leave his hideout. In that time, Courfeyrac had caught glimpses out of the corner of his eye of Montparnasse watching him and Jehan with envy.

The flowers Courfeyrac had given Jehan sat dead in the vase, but Jehan didn’t replace them. “Perhaps it’s time to leave these ghosts behind us,” Jehan said.

Courfeyrac looked into Jehan’s eyes and nodded. “Yes.” Courfeyrac sighed. “Lead the way, Mon cœur.” Together, they left Jehan’s rooms and walked to the Corinthe. The streets were quieter than normal. Courfeyrac used to glance through every crowd to see if he could find one of the Les Amis. Now, he looked through the crowds to look at each and every downtrodden person they had failed. His heart sent them all a silent apology.

If only they had tried harder. If only Javert hadn’t infiltrated their ranks. If only they hadn’t been naïve schoolboys who thought they could change the world in one night.

Jehan held Courfeyrac's hand, bringing him back to the present. They had reached the Corinthe. Courfeyrac looked up at the sign, newly painted to replace the one that had been a part of their barricade.

“I’m ready,” Courfeyrac said. They walked inside together. The public house was quiet inside and when the barkeep saw them, he gave a half-hearted nod. Jehan led Courfeyrac upstairs. There was some broken furniture scattered through the room.

Another voice floated over to them. It… sounded like Marius… Courfeyrac shook his head and hoped his grief would stop playing tricks on him. Jehan’s grip on his arm tightened. “I think Marius’s ghost is trying to communicate with us,” Jehan whispered. “Marius,” he called out. “Will you appear to us? What unfinished business do you have?”

Marius appeared in the doorway, one arm in a sling, a bandage around his head. “Jehan? Courfeyrac?” Marius ran to them, hugging them, very real. Not a ghost then. “You disappeared. We thought you were dead.”

Courfeyrac could scarcely whisper, “We?”

Marius’s face fell. “Oh. No, During the fighting. We assumed the National Guard attacked you.”

“Is anyone else alive?” Jehan asked.

Marius shook his head. “I don’t even know how I’m alive. I woke up in my grandfather’s house. How did you survive?”

“Montparnasse saved us.”

“Is…” Courfeyrac gathered his courage about him. “Is there a grave?”

Marius nodded. “A mass grave.” His face lit up like he had an idea. “Cosette and I were going to visit it, pay our final respects to the Les Amis. You should come with us.”

“We’d love to,” Jehan said. They followed Marius down the stairs and back into the main room of the Corinthe.

A woman Courfeyrac had never met stood up and walked over to them. “Cosette, these are Courfeyrac and Jehan. They survived as well.”

Cosette smiled at them and said, “It is lovely to meet you two.” Jehan and Courfeyrac murmured their pleasantries. With that out of the way, the four left the Corinthe and walked across the city.

At the mass grave, Jehan’s hand in Courfeyrac's tightened. “ _From the world’s bitter wind/Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb_ ,” Jehan mumbled. Courfeyrac wrapped his arms around Jehan. He felt two pairs of arms wrap around him.

Around Cosette and Marius's embrace, Courfeyrac looked up at the setting sun and sighed. The sun would rise tomorrow and they’d have to keep moving on with life. In time, the ache of loss in their chests would diminish. For now, however, Courfeyrac was merely glad to be alive to hold Jehan in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> What Jehan (and Courf) are quoting:
> 
> “Parting is such sweet sorrow” – William Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet”
> 
> “Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art” – John Keats’ “Bright Star”
> 
> “If I die, I die with you” – Dawn of Anguish (Ok, it’s from Les Mis and a lyric, not a poem, but it’s still a quote)
> 
> “From the world’s bitter wind/Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb” – Percy Bysshe Shelley’s "Adonais"


End file.
